Hail to the Chief
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Summary: Or: how the Boss finally shows everyone that politics, much like the curb stomp, is an art known by many but mastered by few. Takes place during the Boss's Presidency leading up to the faithful day that he wishes he didn't leave the nuclear codes in his bedside table.


_**Saints Row **_**and its characters are owned by Volition, THQ, and Oz the Great and Powerful. Richard Posner is owned by the Chicago School of Economics, as is any original character that agrees with selling children on the free market. **

**As per the teachings of the Catholic Church, Johnny Gat has in fact risen to the post of Jesus Part II: The Electric Bugaloo, and will be protrayed as such when we get to the part about the Raptor Zombies.**

**This story is not sponsored by the House of Representatives, which is good because the story would tank with a 10% approval rating.**

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**When the Saints go marching in**

_ The Zin Empire was dead. In a single instant the entire machinery of a millennia spanning regime, neigh a political way of life, vanished into the black abyss of history. Gone were the fleets, the planetary fortresses, the vast simulations. All that remained were scattered legions of soldiers and killers, each one gazing uncertainly at a monitor. Each one filled with terror as the armoured figure hoisted the detached head of their glorious Emperor into the smoke filled chamber. Any myth of invincibility for either their deceased leader or the civilization he commanded lay in a crumpled heap next to the destroyed power armour Zinyak had just moments ago triumphantly adorned. All perpetrated by a brash human; a puckish rogue from a species previously known only for its literary quality. The Zin Empire was indeed dead._

_Much like on Earth, when a mighty and feared Empire falls, the resulting shockwave reverberates through any and all lives that it may have once touched. For all those who had previously only known Zin rule, a new and shadowy future awaited them. However, much like on Earth, that singular moment when all the known universe was ripped apart was merely the culmination of unfolding events so broad and complex that to lay it out across a timeline would be to tangle a ball of yarn beyond any semblance of usefulness. Historians will gaze at the web and see many knots, each one more important to the other depending on the academic in question. For our sake, perhaps, we shall focus on one event in particular. One in which began a string culminating in the armoured human dominators first real taste of power, one which undoubtedly served as the key influence throughout the preceding conflict, and beyond._

_We go then to the eve of the 2012 US Federal Elections, at the hotel of a very special Presidential candidate…. _

…...

All eyes in the room were glued to Brian Williams, the anchor that a year ago no one would have given even half a shit about unless massive, Saint-related carnage made national headlines. Of course, even one year ago not a single person in their right mind would have thought their Boss, a world renowned media celebrity and avowed sociopath, would be in contention for the most powerful position in the world. The large, white haired man stood at the centre of the room, surrounded by his closest allies and campaign advisors. Each one of whom secretly dreaded his surely violent reaction if he lost.

_"Due to unusually high voter turnout we've yet to compile enough concrete data to begin calling any particular states; however one interesting trend is the steadily increasing polling numbers for the Saints-gangster turned politician."_ Mr Williams spoke. _"This is especially unique given that the candidate is running as an Independent. You'll remember that both the Republican and Democratic National Committees banned "the Boss" from their parties after he went on record stating_ 'that he'd rather elect a _real _donkey than a Democrat' _and that_ 'he hasn't killed enough brain cells or poor people to run as a Republican.'"

"I told you that was a dumb thing to say." Stated Benjamin King as he turned to the Boss. He was met with a sympathetic glare.

"What, I thought voters loved honesty?" the Boss retorted.

"There is a such thing as _too much _honesty ya know?"

"Jesus…..if voters are that indecisive about fucking _honesty, _how the hell am I going to make any laws in this country?"

A red-haired Kenzie Kensignton appeared by his side. "Technically the President doesn't create laws: that's the job of Congress. As the head of the Executive the President is responsible for….."

"Kenzie, you can fill me in on the semantics when I win this election ok?" the Boss responded dismissively.

"Of course, god-forbid the President knows how to run the country…" came her reply. The three Saints directed their gaze back at NBC News.

_"Many respondents claim that they feel the candidate is a reliable source of strength, most likely due to the terrorist plot he foiled over the skies of Washington DC mere months ago. Of course both the Republican and Democratic candidates assert that a large portion of the support stems from Vice President Keith David's popularity."_

The Boss gazed across the room at the suave figure of Keith David and shouted, "see Keith, I told ya I'd make up for almost hitting you with my car!"

The actor turned politician turned away from the large entourage of bodacious women to face him. "Shit, if I knew a near-accident was what would get me into the White House, I would have started playing traffic years ago."

Ben King leaned closer to the Presidential candidate. "I still think he sounds too much like Julius. Makes me uncomfortable and shit."

"Name _one _good reason why Keith David shouldn't be my Vice President. With that sultry voice, I should have _no _problem with the General Assembly when I invade Iraq."

"Playa I told you to sit on that shit before yo…." The Boss put his finger to Ben's lips.

"Shut the fuck up, there's a strict "no Debby-downers" rule in place. We'll sort out world domination after I get the codes."

Brian Williams continued. _"He also benefits from a heavy weight endorsement from Video Game Messiah Gabe Newell, who went on record stating that the candidate was the only one who _"could really handle a crowbar in a tough situation". _Consequently his polling numbers shot up an impressive 15% after the statements release." _

Just as the NBC anchor was about to dive into more electoral statistics, the phone in the kitchen rang.

"PIERCE!" screamed the boss. "Get the phone!"

The fedora sporting man charged towards the Boss. "Why the fuck am I getting the phone man? Can't you see I'm all comfortable and shit?"

"You're my future Communications Director. It's your job to do the Communicating and stuff."

"Man I work on your _image_!Phone duty is secretary shit!"

"Which is what you're going to be if you don't answer the damn phone!" Came the Boss's retort.

"I get no fucking respect in this joint, swear to god." Pierce sighed in defeat. He rounded the kitchen corner only to bump into Shaundi; tongue deep in a muscular man's throat.

"Glad to see the person in charge of the President's safety is always so alert." He snarled sarcastically. All he got in return was a middle finger and too close of a view of the slobbering duo's mouth.

"No respect." He repeated.

Pierce picked up the receiver, plugging one ear to block out the excessive noise emanating out of the crowd. Or Shaundi. He wasn't sure at this point. He spoke into the phone.

"Pierce here, what can I do you for? Wait….SHIT! No fucking way dawg!"

Before Pierce was even fully conscious of his actions, he came screaming around the corner and stopped just behind the Boss.

"Boss!" he screamed as all eyes turned to him. "You'll never guess….." he stopped and just held out his arms, the stupidest grin he could manage. The Boss motioned to the TV, sensing what Pierce was so anxious about. The enthusiastic nod confirmed his suspicions.

"Holy shit…..I'M THE FUCKING PRESIDENT!"

The entire room erupted in applause, screams, and ad hoc make-out sessions, as the Saints crew swarmed the newly elected President. Quickly (or as quickly as his newly earned 300 pounds could carry him), he climbed onto the dinning table next to him and whistled for silence.

"Everyone shut up for a sec; I have important President shit to say!" All eyes turned to him. "Now, we've all been through a lot of wacky shit together. And I mean a _lot_. Rival gangs, evil corporations, an M Night Shyamalan movie….but this is when it gets real. This isn't some street gang we're running here, this is the U, S of fucking A! This is at least the greatest country south of Canada! So let me make this perfectly clear to everyone: this is serious. We're running the most important bureaucracy in the world, so things are going to have to be grey and boring…." The Boss looked out at the now sagging faces of his guests and smiled. "pfft, fuck it, I'm the goddamn President! The moment shit gets boring I'll fucking launch a nuke or two! I'll make this the most _epic _Presidency in history, or my name isn't….." the end of his speech was cut off by the roar of the crowd, so the President-elect jumped from the table and landed in the middle of his closest crew. He wrapped his arms around Keith and Shaundi. His grin increased exponentially.

"It's our time now. Lets get this shit started!"

…...

_Though Zinyak and our hero were timelines apart, this pivotal moment may very well have started the countdown towards the final days of the Zin Empire. A seemingly insignificant man had risen to the highest office in the land through adversity, and soon his entire species would unite to do the same. The reign of the Boss had officially begun. As would soon be said from sea to shinning sea…_

_Hail to the Chief. _

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**Important side note: I have no idea what the real timeline is, so in this...err...universe, he's elected in 2012 and will serve for probably around 3 years, meaning the Zin attack in 2015. **

**Or something I don't know. Thanks for reading and what-not.**


End file.
